Things Will Never Be the Same
by Kaitlyn GraysonKaitlyn West
Summary: Jughead has now put on the Southside Serpent jacket. How will Betty react?


"Betty."

He said her name, and it was quiet. Whispered. Like a final plea emerging from a dying man's lips. Close enough, he thinks.

Betty winced in surprise, hurt, or just plain misery, Jughead had no clue. All of a sudden the South Side Serpents leather he had just proudly donned seemed like a burden, a crushing weight he was desperate to rid himself of. But he couldn't. He wasn't naive.

The jacket was a promise. It was solid sanctuary against Riverdale's many dangers. It ensured lifelong partnership with strong, loyal men. It was the last link he had to his father. It was _more_.

But he also knew it more to Betty as well. The Serpents had hurt her in more ways in one, had hurt her family. They were so close to ruining her.

She was the love of his cold, pathetic, lonely life.

But this meant something to him.

She had to understand that.

Slowly, Betty turned around to face him. Her delicate skin was streaked with tears, her lips quivering.

"Juggie-"

And then she was against him, clutching herself to him desperately. Like if she didn't hold him hard enough, he would disappear.

And Jughead did the same.

Who would have thought that Jughead Jones III would fall achingly in love with a blond, strong, funny, unrepentant, beautiful, smart girl. Jughead would die for her.

They were kissing then. Jughead was drunk off the taste of strawberry chapstick and Betty Cooper. He tried to ignore the salt of tears lingering in the mixture. He tried to ignore that they were his.

Betty pulled away suddenly, looked into his eyes.

"Nothing will be the same."

"I know."

It became primal, raw, and _real_. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, kissing him with her soft lips, her teeth, her very soul. Jughead held onto her for dear life.

Betty whined when he pulled away from her lips, but it was only to attach himself to her neck, pulling, biting, and practically mauling the white skin. Her breathing was laboured, heavy and beautiful. She transferred her weight onto his shoulders and-

 _Oh._

She was grinding her cunt against his already aggravated cock. And that was the breaking point.

Jughead threw Betty vertically onto the couch so she was practically sitting. He took his place, kneeling in front of her like a royal subject would his queen. He looked up at her. Betty looked ruined. Her flushed cheeks were marred with black tear tracks, her swollen mouth agape with desperate pants. He smirked.

He pulled down the front of her tops until her bra was revealed, careful not to tear through the thin cotton like he wanted to. Betty took the liberty of unhooking her own bra, revealed white, pillowy breasts and pebbled nipples. He fit one into the palm of his hand and he began his assault.

Brushing his calloused thumb against the nipple he already occupied, he took the other into his mouth and sucked ardently, eliciting from his love surprised cries.

"Fuck, Juggie-"

Her hands once again sought refuge in his hands, but they weren't exactly pulling. They were frantically searching, as if Betty was lost to the sensation Jughead was giving her. Jughead wasn't in any better shape.

This act was so intimate, so vulnerable, so new to him that he was overwhelmed in the best way possible. He reached town and started rubbing his cock through his jeans, fast and frantic in a vain search to relieve himself of the effects Betty had on him.

But Betty was impatient. She roughly pulled his head from her breast, looking into his with an intensity Jughead didn't know was even possible.

"Fuck me."

Two words. Two words that prompted him to let out a weak whimper, prompted Betty to pounce on top of him, which in turn, prompted Betty to hit her head against the coffee table. They were all giggles after that.

Even after the fucked up, colossal mess they were in, they still managed to laugh.

Betty placed her legs on either side of Jughead's waist, hovering her covered pussy just inches above his cock. It was torture. It was torture to watch Betty practically rip the flimsy lace off of herself and see the dripping wetness coming from her center.

She unzipped his pants and freed his cock, and it sprang out in all of it's flushed glory. She bit her lip.

"Damn."

"Like what you see?"

"You have no idea, baby."

And then she grabbed his dick. The contact was hot, bold, and so _Betty._ He moaned. He soon realized however, that the only reason she grabbed his dick was to lower herself onto it. It was slow, Betty adjusting herself to the unfamiliar stretch that was consuming her senses. But every inch she lowered herself. It gave Jughead more access to wet, hot, suction. It was way better that his left hand.

When he was finally balls-deep within her, they both let out surprised cries. It was too much, Jughead decided, when Betty started to move. She did it almost instantly, pressing her palm against his chest and bouncing on his cock. It really was too much.

He grabbed her hips, digging his thumbs so deep into her flesh that it would leave bruises. It felt as if all control was lost to him. Everything was a blur of sweat, desperate cries, the heavenly feel of being inside of Betty, and the hypnotising sight of Betty tits bouncing with her. (Okay, believe it or not, he was a horny, hormone-driven teenager. He could look at what he wanted.)

Jughead felt the tell-tale sensation of his orgasm washing over him, so he took control, using his grip on her to bring her down that much faster.

Panting.

Moaning.

Crying.

And it was over.

After he had spent himself inside of his love, Jughead was exhausted. Betty rolled off to his side, curling into him. The small space smelled of sex, sweat, and a sweetness that he couldn't identify. He relished in the feel of Betty's clammy body against his side, cooling him.

"Things will never be the same," she repeated.

"I know," he replied.


End file.
